Oh Holly Knight
by CSI Clue
Summary: Steve may not get the job, but he gets the girl. :)


Oh Holly Knight

In the course of a year, things had gotten better. Steve Claus didn't want to openly admit it; it wasn't in his nature to dwell on the past—at least not too much anymore these days—but life was certainly smoother now that he'd worked a few issues out with Dad and Arthur and Grand-Santa.

It had taken some time, but from the moment he'd watched little Gwen Hines from Trelew take her new bike out in the snow that morning nearly nine months ago, Steve had come to realize that there _was_ more to Christmas than logistics and statistics. To be sure there were days when he backslid a bit, particularly when some deadline for upgrades loomed, but on the whole, he understood now that Christmas held an intrinsic emotional magic, no matter what strings where pulled behind the scenes.

Still, it was a bit of a lonely job at times. Oh he supervised the rigorous training regimes for the elves, and worked on upgrading and restoring the S1 and crunched the numbers for the coming year's projections. Steve had more than enough to DO—in theory he had enough for ten Clauses to do—but that didn't make turning in to an empty bedroom night after night any easier.

He supposed Arthur would find someone at some point. Both he and his brother did make trips to England ostensibly to check out the latest toy fads and gadgets, but Steve knew his mother harbored the private hope that they'd each enjoy company that wasn't two feet high and completely obsessed with Christmas. After all, Grand-Santa had courted Granny-Santa at the Crystal Pavilion back at the turn of the century, and his parents had met at Harrods during a Boxing Day sale. People met. People had tea and chatted and sometimes fell in love, if they were lucky.

Arthur always wanted to go in November, as late in the month as possible, in hopes of catching some early season cheer. Going in December was out of the question of course—too close to the mission to spend time away from the Pole. Steve didn't really have a preferred time of year. He generally went during the major Tech expos and even then spent most of his time in front of plasma screens or in seminars that discussed the latest information in cloaking and transport breakthroughs.

Still, he found time to enjoy the Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew, and take in some sunshine—in moderation of course. Years of living under artificial lights combined with a genetically fair complexion left him susceptible to sunburn. The hydroponics section was particularly fascinating, and he made a note on his HoHo to look into the possibility of a start-up fueled by camouflaged solar panels. It would be nice to have some fresh greens instead of relying on the stuff shipped in every two weeks or so . . . . Steve's musings were interrupted by the sound of a polite argument a little ways off and he looked up to see a man and a woman in the midst of a hissing disagreement. The man wore a lab coat and a sardonic sneer that suggested he enjoyed verbally strong-arming the woman.

The woman though, looked as if she wanted to storm off and couldn't. She had curly black hair untidily braided in a rope down her back, and behind her horn rim glasses her eyes flashed a dangerous shade of blue. Steve noted that she had a fancy tech tablet, and kept thrusting it at the man, as if to make the numbers on it jump off at him. Even though they were both trying to keep their voices down, it was clear that the disagreement was coming to a head.

"I'm not the _only_ one who cares about getting these to Svalbard, George! Please don't keep denying the funding for personal reasons!"

Her accent was American, and her voice husky; Steve found himself taking her side without even knowing what the argument was about. She was adamant, and Steve admired the way she stood up to the pudgy man, even though her colleague made it clear from his body language that he wasn't about to yield to her argument.

"I resent your accusations that I have an agenda, Doctor Knight, and it's clear to me that if anyone has a personal crusade going here, it's you. If you persist in this waste of time I will be forced to cut your department's funding even further."Having delivered this message, the pudgy man turned and waddled off, insufferably pleased with himself.

Steve felt a surge of chivalrous anger rise up in him; he wanted very much to step in and cut the man down to size even if he had no idea what the disagreement was about. He sighed, aware that he was eavesdropping to some degree, and as he shifted to take a step back, the woman looked directly over at him, lifting her eyes to meet his.

That gaze pinned him, and in that instant he felt the strong and immediate link to her. It was as if they'd synched; made a high-speed connection, with a rush of attraction so powerful Steve felt a moment's dizziness as he blinked.

"Sorry you had to see that," she told him, giving a resigned little shrug of her shoulders. "Not everybody thinks plants are worth saving."

" _I_ do," he responded automatically. At this point she could have said anything— all kittens should be slaughtered, the Ozone was a myth—and Steve would have agreed with her. It would have been a crime _not_ to agree with someone that dedicated, that compassionate, that . . . striking.

"Glad to hear it," she replied, and smiled, revealing a dimple on her cheek.

The effect was devastating, and Steve Claus, normally a man of intelligence, organization and strategy, found himself struck dumb as he blushed like a brand-new Christmas bulb. The woman sauntered past him, her hands deep in her pockets, her tablet tucked under her arm. As she did so, she added, "Nice beard. Very . . . arboreal."

Steve turned to watch her go, a thousand things racing through his mind, but nothing made it past his lips, and once she was gone, he gave a great, gusty sigh. He ran a hand through the tuffet of his grey hair, wondering if it was too early to have a pint somewhere to forget about ships passing in the night.

The next time he saw her, it was dawn, nearly thirty below Celsius, and snowing hard.

One of the meteorological team had picked up the heat blip during a routine security scan and notified him. Steve had the perimeter cameras focus in, and realized this particular intruder wasn't the usual stray polar bear tripping the sensors. There was a protocol for dealing with unauthorized visitors, one that required snowmobiles, tranquilizers and a quick delivery to Alert, Nunavut in Canada or Station Nord, Demark—whichever was manned at the moment.

Steve usually oversaw rescues from the Command Centre, but given there was still the better part of a year until C Day, decided to go himself with one of the hover-sleds. He hadn't heard of any new expedition teams—he prided himself of being up-to-date on all polar research—but occasionally there were individuals who made the attempt. Mad and sad, but true. Most of them stayed away from the pole after being rescued, thank God.

He bundled up and took the wheel of the hover-sled, leaving Peter behind to keep an eye on the Command Centre. The winds were gusting in unpredictable blasts, and the grey horizon was darker than the floes and ice fields all around him. Steve checked the screen and set out, slightly annoyed and slightly amused at the same time, confident he'd be back in time for tea. He tightened his goggles and roared out, gliding over the ice easily.

According to the directions, Steve realized he was heading towards Norway, roughly, and within an hour he reached the site, slowing a little as the sky began to drop snow in big fat flakes. He wished he'd brought a thermos of hot cocoa; the weather promised to get nastier, and at this rate, visibility would disappear rapidly. Steve envied his family for a moment on their cruise to the Caribbean. His parents certainly deserved the trip and while Arthur hadn't sure about going, Grand-Santa had been, telling everyone who'd listen that he was going to eat his way through every buffet the ship offered. He'd even ordered a new set of teeth too, just for the occasion.

Steve peered at the screen and realized he was within visual range now. He lifted his head and hit the filter button for the infrared goggles, letting his gaze sweep across the uneven terrain. Bits of track and fiberglass littered the ground, and he saw the broken Snow Flyer crumpled up alongside a heavy ridge of ice that rose up from the frozen landscape.

It didn't look good, and he wondered grimly if he would be in time. There'd been deaths before, and none of them had been pleasant. Still, the heat reading was registering, so Steve slowed the Hover-sled and circled around, studying the wreckage. Off to one side, a form lay prone, partially covered with snow. The glow made it clear that whoever lay there, they were still alive, and Steve let out a gusty sigh of relief. He put the Hover-sled into park and climbed off, moving to check on the victim. "Hallo! Can you hear me?"

A soft moan carried over the wind, and that was good enough for him. Steve knelt down and brushed the snow away from the long ridge on the uneven ground, realizing that whoever it was didn't have long if they didn't get warmed up soon. He dug with his big mitts, pulling the figure up and slinging it over one shoulder. It wasn't an elegant maneuver, but it would do for now. Steve lumbered his way back to the hover-sled and gently put the nearly-frozen figure into the bundle compartment.

In this weather there was no chance of reaching either Alert or Nord, which left only one alternative, he realized.

The trip back didn't take nearly as long, and Steve prided himself on getting in well before the storm hit hard. At the garage, a medical team was already standing by, prepared to start administering aid for hypothermia. He pulled in and slowed the hover-sled, nodding. "Right. I don't know how long this chap's been out there, but I think it's going to be all right."

"Yes sir," came a cheerful chirp from somewhere around his knees. Peter looked up, bright-eyed as ever. "Radio traffic's been distorted, but nothing's come over any of the emergency channels yet."

"Keep on it; someone's bound to say something," Steve murmured, accepting the mug of espresso with soy and fair trade sugar from the elf. "What's the latest weather report?"

"The edge of the storm will be hitting us in about three hours," came the quick response from one of the meteorology team. "Not typical for this time of year, but with global warming, the trends are taking a major shift, sir."

"Are we secured?"

At this Peter actually managed a quick salute. "We are indeed. I took the liberty of sending a quick note to your father and brother before you left, giving them a status update. Oh, and I found an e-copy of that action novel you wanted, sir." This last was stage-whispered, and Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Thank you, Peter," he replied, and sipped the coffee. "I think I'll just check in on our . . . guest, then."

He strode to the window of the isolation bay and looked in as a team of elves in medical gear efficiently pulled the boots, jacket and gloves off of the figure on the table. As more and more of the patient was uncovered, Steve blinked, aware of something he hadn't realized during the rescue. When her jumper came off, revealing a lacy ad well-filled bra, he gulped.

"Good Lord, it's a woman!"

It was indeed a woman, judging by the curves, calves and curls. Steve felt himself flush bright red and it took a long moment before he spun away from the glass, feeling ten kinds of fool for not realizing this now obvious fact. The coffee sloshed in a wave over the floor, and Steve gritted his teeth at the mess.

A woman. This could be a problem. One of the elves came to the window and rapped on it, catching his attention.

"Sir," came the worried voice, muffled slightly by the glass. "We can deal with the hypothermia, but we're going to have a slight problem with acquiring . . . apparel for our patient?"

Of course they would, Steve realized. The majority of the wardrobe here at the pole was elf-sized, and the items that weren't wouldn't fit their guest very well. That left only . . .

"You're hereby authorized to appropriate any suitable clothing from the Claus family wardrobes," Steve ordered over his shoulder. "Your best candidate, size-wise, would probably be Arthur. Take whatever you think best."

There, immediate problem solved. That only left about ninety-nine more to deal with. Steve added, "I'll be in the control room . . . controlling things."

He headed back, determined to concentrate on whatever he could find to take his mind off the current situation. There was maintenance to the S1 Evie to consider, and the ongoing algorithms for maximum present distribution, and, and . . . Steve gritted his teeth, giving into mild inner panic.

A guest. A female guest. Here. At the pole. There had been no real plan for this contingency—everything he and dad and Grand-Santa had ever dealt with involved keeping a defensive perimeter and beyond that most people trying to reach the pole had been men. The oncoming storm insured that she'd be staying here for a while and he had no idea what to do. Confine her to medical centre? They didn't have any sort of facilities for detainment on base, and the empty storage units were unheated, and having her bunk in with the elves . . . no. Just, _no_.

"I'll have to give her _my_ room," he said aloud, moving into the command centre.

"Beg pardon sir?" one of the nearest elves swiveled to look at him.

"Nothing. Just . . . what's the latest weather report? For the immediate proximity I mean."

"Oh, well the storm's been officially upgraded to a blizzard now. Good thing you got back when you did."

"Yes," Steve agreed a trifle grimly. "How long is it expected to last?"

"Two days for sure; might be as long as a week," the elf replied. "The supply shuttles barely got out in time, but we're stocked up."

"Brilliant," Steve sighed. "By the way, which stations are manned at the moment?"

A ripple passed through one of the banks of elves and they did quick consults before another one spoke up. "Nord's on a skeleton crew at the moment but Alert is active. Of course they're as snowbound as we are, sir."

Steve nodded, feeling a sense of fatalism now. There was no way around it; they had a guest for the duration.

Much later, he was in the middle of an electronics requisition form when the main computer announced, "There has been an unauthorized discharge from the medical wing."

"Unauthorized—oh no," Steve muttered, shooting to his feet and heading for the corridor. The last thing he needed was for the girl to end up wandering around the base. As he ran towards the medical wing he called out, "close off all essential doorways immediately!"

"Acknowledged," the computer assured him. He came around the corner and nearly collided with the girl, who immediately hunched into a defensive stance, her eyes locked on him, her dark curly hair flowing over her shoulders. She wore one of Arthur's holiday jumpers—a red one with dancing candy canes- and while it generally looked baggy on his lean brother, this girl's figure filled it out in distractingly pleasant ways. Likewise the borrowed green sweatpants clung to curves that Arthur never had. Steve held up his hands in a placating manner.

"Let's just calm down now," he rumbled.

"Oh I'm calm," she retorted, "but I'm getting out of here, so you better move."

"Miss, please," Steve tried to reason. "You're safe."

"Where _am_ I?" she shifted to his left, trying to circumvent him. Steve countered it, vaguely aware that she seemed to know what she was doing.

"A secure location," he bluffed. "For your own good."

"Only _I_ get to decide what's for my own good," she informed him tersely. "When I wake up in a hospital bed wearing somebody else's clothes and everyone I see is a Little Person, that's when it's time to get out of Dodge."

"What?" Steve demanded, side-tracked. "Aren't you dodging now?"

The girl smiled against her will for a moment, tossing her hair out of her glasses. "Not that kind of dodge. Now move. Please."

Irritated now, Steve straightened up and extended one hand to stop her. "Miss, don't make me—"

She grabbed his forearm, turned, and neatly flipped him over her shoulder to the floor. Steve barely had time to realize what was happening before he hit with a heavy thud. Elves poured out of the medical bay door, watching in dismay.

"Sir, are you hurt?" one of them called out. The girl seemed surprised at her own actions but after one glance back, ran off down the hallway.

Steve got to his feet, feeling humiliated, out-of-breath, and under all that, faintly impressed. "I'm fine." He tapped his earpiece. "Computer, close access to all doors off of main corridor B. Peter?"

"Sir?" his small aide de camp called back over the device.

"Find a way to track our guest via heat sensor and sent it to my Hoho. If I'm right, she'll be dead-ended just north of the medical wing."

"On it sir!"

Steve checked his tablet and the maze of hallways lit up on the screen, looking like a Pac Man display. He watched the small heat blip move surprisingly fast down and around various corners only to double back. Cautiously Steve moved forward, waving back the elves as he began to box the woman in.

Reaching a corner he called out, "all right, now that you've seen you can't get out, I think it's time to talk, Miss." Into his earpiece he added, "Do we have any identification for this woman?"

"Doctor Holly Knight, sir. She's an ethno-botanist with the Terra Pax Foundation out of London," Peter told him.

"Doctor Knight," Steve tried again, moving cautiously around the corner. She was there, back in her defensive judo stance, looking a little less confident now.

"Fine that's me; who are you?"

"Stephen—Steve Claus," he told her. "I'm in charge here."

She finally focused on his camouflage, her expression perplexed. "Are those . . . _pine_ trees?"

Steve glanced down. "Ah, yes. My own design, actually."

"But with the red background you won't blend in anywhere except maybe a gift wrap booth," she pointed out and Steve felt a little affronted.

"It's more for esprit de corps than application," he replied, a little stuffily and when Holly looked up, her dimple brought back a memory for him. "Hold on a moment, I _know_ you. Kew Gardens, a month ago!"

She blinked and then her smile widened. "Yes. Guy with the cute beard! You looked like you wanted to slug George Drossel as much as I did!"

"Well he was being excessively rude," Steve felt himself flush, "Er, cute beard?" To his relief she did too, looking away and pushing her glasses up.

"Yes, well Doctor Drossel _thought_ he had the last word about the seed vault but he didn't and now my collection from the Finnish bogs is registered and safe!"

"Seed vault? Finnish bogs?" Steve felt himself at a loss. "Do you mean to say you went to Svalbard on a snowmobile?"

"Only from town," she told him, relaxing her stance a bit. "The fog came up as I was leaving and I had to rely on my borrowed GPS. So . . . are we on some military base outside of Norway or something?"

Steve took a deep breath. "Not . . . precisely."

"Then _what_ , precisely?" she asked.

Steve lifted his furry chin as he considered all the reasons not to tell this relative stranger about the Operation, about the generations of work dedicated to the world-wide spirit of the Christmas season, but the sight of her in Arthur's jumper undid all of them.

"Come with me."

Ten minutes later she was still hyper-ventilating, hunched over as Steve gingerly rubbed her back. "Breathe, Doctor Knight, breathe. Please."

"A C-C-Christmas Command Center!" she gasped for the fifth time. "It's GOT to be a hallucination! I'm dying on some ice floe while my brain is freezing and throwing together all sorts of random memories."

"No Miss, you're not," Peter assured her as he consulted his tablet. "We've accessed your files for verification: Holly I. Knight of 33 Chaucer Avenue, Richmond, England. Last fulfilled gift request twenty years ago: Easy-bake oven. In turquoise."

She straightened up, eyes wide behind her glasses. "Yes! I _loved_ that thing!" Turning to Steve she added in astonishment, "Wait, so _you're_ Santa Claus?"

"I'm a Claus but not _the_ official Santa," he admitted, feeling only a tinge of resentment instead of the usual rush. Time and experience had given Steve a better understanding of his place in the hierarchy and a sense of peace. "One of five of us here at the pole."

"There are FIVE of you?"

"Grand-dad, mother, father, Arthur and me," Steve told her with a little shrug. "It IS a family business."

"Of course," she murmured, still dazed. "Are they stuffing stockings somewhere?"

"Oh no, there's an entire battalion of _elves_ for that," Steve assured her. "Right now the family's on a cruise in the Bahamas since it's the off-season. I stayed behind to keep an eye on things."

"Excuse me for interrupting sir, but there's a bulletin about Doctor Knight coming from Longyearbyen," one of the elves at the consoles chirped. "She's been reported as missing."

"Oh damn, I've got to get back," Holly blurted, suddenly aware of the world outside of the base. "I'll need to pay for the snowmobile and let Nigel know I'm not dead."

"Nigel?" Steve felt a sinking sensation in his stomach.

"Nigel Melcher, my fiancé," she responded faintly. "He lent me his GPS. Damn it, I'll have to replace _that_ as well. Do you have my cell phone?"

"Sorry Miss," Peter told her. "We do, but it won't work as long as we're in the storm."

The next three days of the storm were among the most unsettling Steve had been through in years. On the one hand he had company; Holly Knight was bright and fascinating to talk to—full of ideas and opinions about everything. They'd gone from uneasy truce to a more comfortable companionship early on. She also knew a great deal about technology, particularly as it applied to plants, and had a wry view of the world that amused him as he got to know her.

On the other hand she was engaged. That annoying fact kept popping up in his thoughts when he least wanted it to. Holly hadn't volunteered much about her intended beyond the fact that he was in her field and knew about her trip to Svalbard. Steve tried not to brood about the situation, but it irritated him more than it should.

Shyly he'd given Holly the full tour, pleased at her thoughtful questions, keenly aware of how cute Arthur's wardrobe was on her. Peter assured him that some of the in-house elf tailors were working up a few outfits, and that Holly's original clothing was being laundered but until it was ready, Christmas jumpers and sweats would have to do, along with bedroom slippers.

At first Holly had seemed shy of the elves, but after seeing their dedication and pride in their work she'd warmed up to many of them, especially the gift wrappers and packers. "So generations of these guys come from all over apply to work here," Holly had marveled, "Taking aptitude tests and training for C day?"

"Precisely," Steve had told her. "Rehearsing maneuvers down to the last second. They're a crack team, ready for every contingency." It felt good to show off for someone who appreciated it, he admitted to himself, and the elves themselves beamed with pride at his words.

When Steve had shown Holly the small experimental hydroponics lab on the lower level, she had come up with so many suggestions to improve it that he'd quickly given her a Hoho to design the new schematics.

"I'm always open to innovation," Steve had assured her. "Especially for something as beneficial as a greenhouse."

She marveled at all the workshops, and the high-speed mail processing, and utterly adored the reindeer. The beasts seemed to reciprocate the feeling as they nuzzled Holly's hands to take the carrots she offered and by the time she and Steve had gotten back to the main levels the entire day had flown by.

And he hadn't even realized it.

Over dinner on the first night, Holly told him about her trip.

"This last year I've been collecting seed samples from bogs in Finland; lichen spores, endosperm cases, a whole biome's worth of rare material," she told him softly. "Some of them will be gone in our lifetime due to global warming and loss of habitat. George Drossel, my bull-headed boss at Terra Pax feels that it's a waste of time to store it at Svalbard, even though I assured him I'd pay my own way there and back.

Anyway, I scraped most the money together and told Nigel what I was going to do. He fronted me the rest of the money and promised me he'd take care of my research while I was gone. I've got some experiments going with various plants I've gathered and some patents for them. Nigel even lent me his GPS. I got to the Seed Vault and signed over the deposit before noon in fact. The director there told me about the storm and urged me to head out early but . . ." she gave a sigh, "it wasn't early enough of a head start. I kept heading south—or what I thought was south- and not finding the road. I would have died if you hadn't found me, Steve. Thank you."

"It's all right," he assured her awkwardly. "The decent thing to do, and all that. We might be a secret operation but we're not heartless up here."

"I'd say you guys are _full_ of heart," Holly replied, still amused. "Spirit of Christmas, right?"

"Most of us," he offered lightly. "Arthur's the one who's taken up the mantle so to speak." Steve waved to the family portrait on the wall. "He's good at it; a true believer."

He didn't miss her thoughtful gaze. "So he's your little brother?" There was a question under the question and Steve sighed.

"Yes, but as I said—he's got something I . . . _don't_. People skills, I think they call it."

Then Holly turned her face to him and gave him a slightly twisted smile. "Everybody's got their gifts. For the record, _you_ must be pretty brilliant at logistics to be able to support him and this entire operation, right?"

It was one of the nicest things he'd ever been told, and although he tried to fight it, Steve felt himself blush again.

Even sleeping in Arthur's room wasn't as bad as Steve thought it might be. At least the mattress was comfortable and after the first night the glow-in-the-dark snowflakes didn't bother him much. The knowledge that Holly was sleeping in _his_ bed left Steve feeling a little off-center too, but in a very nice way. He knew it had to do with hormones and proximity and all those human urges he'd spent too much time ignoring. Now they were keeping him up at night in both the metaphorical and literal sense, unfortunately.

Steve was no prude, but found it troubling that his body had very decided responses to Holly Knight, and they manifested themselves at the slightest provocation. Staring too long at any part of her anatomy made him overly warm; standing too close to her did much the same. Little fanciful daydreams had begun to creep into his thoughts and he was fairly sure it wasn't normal to go through quite so much tissue before sleep.

By the fourth morning the storm had abated considerably, and Peter informed him that communications with the outside world were once again possible, although intermittent. Steve accepted this annoying news and debated what to do. Returning Holly wouldn't be difficult—at least not technically. The S1 had enough stealth hardware to make it a simple thing to fly over Longyearbyen and drop the doctor off on the outskirts of town.

No, the issue lay in how to explain her re-appearance without suspicion. The last thing Steve wanted was any sort of investigation . . . actually it wasn't, he admitted to himself. The last thing he wanted to do was return her at all. Over the past days he'd come to enjoy her company tremendously and the thought of saying goodbye wasn't a happy one.

But she had her own life, and Steve understood that. He checked the newsfeeds looking for anything related to Holly's disappearance and was so engrossed that he didn't hear her come into the Command office.

"Steve, is there any geothermal activity around here? Oh, can we get through now?" she asked, coming over his shoulder to look at the flat screen on his desk.

"No on the springs, alas, and yes, we're picking up transmissions although the wind's still too strong to fly just yet," he told her absently even though he was keenly aware of her proximity. "They're sending out search parties for you, by the way."

"Ah," she murmured, coming over to perch on the corner of his desk. "Should I go out and meet them?"

"Can't," Steve admitted. "For one thing they're still several hundred miles off, and for another, there will be questions. Lots of them." He shot her a keen look. "I've already broken my own security rules in showing you as much as I have, Holly, but that's been on the understanding that you'll not say a word to anyone. Bit of a dilemma now."

She looked adorable sitting there chewing her lower lip before she spoke. "I won't say anything, I promise. I can put it into writing if you like."

"I trust you," he told her quietly. "A year ago I'd have made you fill out a full contract and gotten it notarized but not now. One of the things I've learned from Arthur is to have a little faith in people."

Now it was her turn to blush. Steve was about to say something more when a new face flashed on the flat screen, the reporter speaking with a slight Norwegian accent.

"—Two days ago called _off_ the search at the request of Doctor Knight's fiancé, who thanked everyone involved. The local rescue teams continue to feel this was a bit premature and there was a better than average chance she was still alive, but Doctor Melcher was adamant and felt that continuing the effort at this point would have endangered too many people. He further stated that when weather permits body recovery can begin."

"What?" Holly slid off the desk to glare at the screen.

Steve scowled. "That's insane! Longyearbyen has some of the most sophisticated, experienced teams around, and I should know—we've had to avoid them dozens of times in the past."

The screen showed a dark-haired man with a sallow complexion and a pointed nose. "While I appreciate everyone's efforts I know the late Doctor Knight wouldn't have wanted anyone else endangered after her own careless demise. It's tragic of course, and we of the Terra Pax Institute will never forget her or her work here."

Appalled, Steve risked a sidelong glance at Holly, who was white-faced at this point. He wasn't sure if she was in shock but he himself felt a deep and instant dislike for the figure on the screen.

"I don't believe this," Holly finally managed in a whisper, "He called _off_ the search?"

The feed ended with a cut to another reporter giving the weather. Steve rose to move behind her and very lightly set his hands on her shoulders. He was aware of how tense they felt, of how small they were under his palms. "Holly . . . ."

"I mean he wasn't the most affectionate guy, and I used to think he was jealous of my work, but when he lent me the money to get here and his GPS . . ."

A suspicion rose in Steve's mind. "His GPS," he echoed. "I wonder." Tapping his earpiece, Steve called out, "Peter? Can you get me the coordinates for where we found Doctor Knight?"

"Yes sir, sending them to your Hoho sir."

"Good. How's the weather?"

"Brisk but the wind is dying down. Should I ready the hover sled?"

Holly had turned and was looking at him, her expression fierce. "I'm going _with_ you," she informed Steve.

"Ah. Then I think we'll need to use Jingle Bell One instead."

She grinned.

The two deer open sleigh raced out over the frosty floes, the bright red vehicle hovering a foot off of the ice as ahead of them two reindeer galloped happily in the air, pulling them along. Steve tapped the touch screen display on the dashboard, making small course corrections as the occasional gust blew over them. He and Holly were both in green plaid parkas with red scarves, outfitted with snow goggles and earmuffs as well.

The sleigh wasn't large, and the press of her hip against his felt nice. Steve tried to focus on the trip; on the task of recovering the snowmobile and more specifically the GPS, but he couldn't deny that having Holly so close was delightful.

"I _like_ this," she called to him over the wind. "Gravity-defying reindeer are extremely . . . cool."

"More efficient for the short haul," he replied, trusting that Holly would appreciate the physics, even if he didn't fully understand them himself.

She leaned against him, laughing a bit as the sleigh bobbled up, and Steve chuckled too, not sure what they were so amused about, and not really caring either. Under and around them the icy drifts flew by and within twenty minutes the screen showed they were at the coordinates of the snowmobile. Steve slowed the reindeer and gently circled the snow-covered mound until they came to a stop. Hopping out he hesitated only a moment before turning back to hold out a gloved hand for Holly. She took it and climbed down, the wind fluttering through her dark curls.

He felt warm just looking at her, and chided himself for it, trying to stick to reason over reaction.

"So do we just . . . dig?" Holly asked. In answer, Steve fished out a pair of brooms from the back of the sleigh.

"Sweep. The snow's dry," he told her, and setting an example, began to brush the tallest section of the mound. After the first pass the edge of a handle appeared and Holly joined in clearing away the drifts. In short time they managed to clear most of the snowmobile and Steve lifted it to load it into the back of the sleigh. Doing so showed off his strength—a fact that pleased him. Holly tutted a bit but nodded when he managed to set it down without too much strain. She climbed into the sleigh and leaned over the back to fish in the snowmobile seat . . . a move that put _her_ seat on charming display. Steve felt himself blush again and scooped up a handful to snow to press to his face, hoping it didn't sizzle.

Things were getting ridiculous, he told himself. Yes she was pretty and brilliant and had an amazing bum from the look of it but—

"Got it!" she crowed over the gusts of wind. "Let's head back; I could do with some hot chocolate!"

"Right!" Steve barked, glad of the distraction, and climbed into the sleigh next to her.

The trip back seemed shorter; mostly because they'd talked about the greenhouse and solar power, both of them caught up in environmentally friendly technology. Once they'd turned the sleigh over to the barn elves and carried the GPS to one of the workshops though, Steve caught her gaze.

"We both have the same suspicion, and before we check it, I need to know what you plan to do if it's confirmed," he told her quietly.

Holly pushed her glasses up and gave a little scowl. "Well if Doctor Melcher gave me a _deliberately_ faulty GPS then it's attempted murder, Steve. He needs to be brought to justice."

He gave her a smile, and then sighed, waving an arm. "Yes, absolutely. At the same time, I've got a responsibility to this entire operation. Your going back will raise a lot of questions and when you _do_ go back . . ." he swallowed hard, "then it's very likely I won't see you again."

It was painful getting those words out. The shock and hurt on her face touched him and he reached for her.

Holly lurched forward and hugged him, muffling a quick little sob against his chest. "Damn it! I didn't _think_ about that part!"

"Holly . . ." Steve wanted to say more but the warm press of her against him shorted out his ability to speak. His pulse raced and he felt a surge of protective desire flood through him at her distress. He allowed himself to hug her back, quietly savoring how perfect a fit she was in his arms.

This felt _right_. Steve Claus, who had never before trusted his instincts before checking them against the facts, realized he was well and truly in love. This brilliant, stubborn, sometimes dangerous scientist was everything he'd ever wanted before he'd even _known_ what he wanted. And now the real possibility he'd lose her hung over him.

Or was that . . . ?

He heard something and glanced up; caught, three elves smiled sheepishly as they finished dangling the huge bunch of beribboned mistletoe from the ceiling and vanished through one of the air vents. Steve blushed, particularly when he looked down again to see Holly looking up. "Er . . ."

She went pink, her mouth pursing in surprise. Before he could talk himself out of it, Steve kissed Holly.

It was a delicious little snog, tender and properly romantic at that. Steve loved the hints of hot chocolate and peppermint on Holly's lips, loved losing himself in the sensations that flared through him. Heat, delight, desire and a yearning for more . . . He pulled back, just a little pole-axed by it all.

Holly's eyes stayed closed a moment longer and she flicked her tongue along her lips as if to taste the traces of him there. She gave a dreamy sigh. "Wow."

The sound of her voice sent hot pulses through him and Steve gave a little groan. "Holly . . . Doctor Knight . . ."

She opened her eyes and gave him a crooked smile as she pushed up her glasses. Reluctantly pulled away from his arms, her cheeks flushed, eyes bright. "Okay, need we look to go at the GPS."

"What?"

"GPS, look we at, right?" she spluttered, growing redder. "I _mean_ ," Holly murmured slowly, "wee neeeed to go loook at the GPS."

He smiled. Steve couldn't help himself really; the sight of her kiss-flustered face confirmed that Holly was as smitten with him as he with her. Very carefully he reached up to stroke her velvety cheek.

"Yes," he replied softly.

The hardware for the Where2Go 4000 had been dinged when the snowmobile had toppled over in the ice, but it was the software that that held the real damage. Steve found a malware program in it that would override the navigational coordinates and read North off by two degrees. Peter ran it through the Satellite tracking team to confirm it, and looked properly outraged by the results.

"That's deliberately putting Doctor Knight in harm's way!" Peter piped up as Steve and Holly stepped into the main command centre. "We're checking to see if we can find a time stamp on when it was uploaded, sir!"

"Good," Steve told him and turned to Holly. "What now?"

"Well the engagement is _definitely_ off," she announced with a blush, "which means I'm free to pursue other . . . relationships. That's the least difficult part of all this. I want to press charges but that will mean a cover story for where I've been, and all sorts of media which none of you need . . . damn it, it's just so complicated!"

Steve pressed his mouth in a tight line before speaking. "It needn't be. My question is why? Why would the rotter do this? Was there something in particular about those seeds, or-"

"—my research!" Holly blurted, looking furious all over again. "Can someone—anyone-please check the Terra Pax institute in-house announcement and pending research blog?"

Three elves at computers snapped on it, putting the page on the jumbo-tron screen within a few minutes. The first article listed had the headline _: Miracle moss? Possible Andreaeaceae breakthrough for super-nutrients._ The listed author was Doctor Melcher, and Holly spluttered.

"That's MY work! That particular strain was from Cors Degai! Oh that thieving bastard!"

A row of gasps went around the control room at her language but Steve had to bite back a chuckle. He cleared his throat to hide it and spoke up. "I think we know the motive now and further I think we need to _do_ something about it. Peter, I want an alpha team and three of your best from the wrapping department ready to move by twenty-one hundred hours. Holly, come with me."

He motioned for her to follow him back to the command office, and once there, shut the door. "All right, Here's what we're going to do."

Steve told her his initial plan. She listened, made suggestions and within twenty minutes they had a viable course of action. Holly looked bright-eyed and just a little mischievous—a very good look on her, Steve thought.

"It's devious and he won't expect it," she growled. "So it's perfect!"

"It's taking the law into our own hands," Steve reminded her, "but he cannot be permitted to get away with what he's done at any price."

"I agree," Holly nodded. "Let's do this."

No one at the Spitzbergen hotel saw a thing when shortly after midnight half a dozen ninja-suited commando elves rappelled down from S1 to the windowsill of Doctor Nigel Melcher's room and skillfully bypassed the locks and screens. Once inside, the Team Leader led the way to the bedroom where Doctor Melcher lay sprawled in hideous orange long-johns, snorting. A quick fingersnap, and three of the elves pounced, wrapping paper and ribbon in hand. They speedily trussed the doctor up in rolls of green and red plaid paper, leaving space for his nose and eyes. When Melcher woke and started to yelp, one of the elves manufactured a bow gag, effectively stopping any protests.

The elves trotted him out through the suite to the window and attached him like a dangling ham to one of the ropes where he was hoisted up into the cloaked ship. The elves followed after closing the window behind them and the S1 swiftly left, the entire abduction taking less than five minutes all told.

Steve was quite proud.

S1 returned to Command Central and the elves carried Melcher out, depositing him (ungently) onto the chilly floor of one of the storage rooms before saluting Steve and slipping out. The scientist wriggled like a salmon until Steve caught one edge of the paper, gave a tug and peeled it like a Christmas tangerine, spinning the doctor until he was breathless on the floor.

"What is the _meaning_ of this?" came the reedy complaint. "I demand to know-what's going on?"

"Doctor Melcher," Steve murmured, the name leaving a bad taste in his mouth. "You've been a very naughty individual."

Doctor Melcher looked up, all the way up to see Steve's scowl. Blinking, the scientist thrust out his chin as he rose to his bare feet. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Steve held out the Where2Go 4000 in one big hand. "Look familiar?"

"I . . . I don't know what you're talking about," came the whiny bluff.

"I think you _do_ , Nigel," Holly said, coming from behind Steve and glaring at him. "You piece of . . . of . . . _reindeer_ poop!"

Melcher's face shifted from guilty surprise and horror to distaste. "H-Holly! Reindeer poop? Really?"

"You not only sent me out with a deliberately sabotaged GPS in hopes I'd die, but you also _stole my research_ you moldy bladderwort! You slimy algae bloom! I don't know how I ever trusted you, you parasite!"

"Because you're utterly gullible, Knight! All I had to do was tell you a few pretty lies and you bought them. I knew you were onto something good with the _Andreaeaceae_ but you wouldn't turn it over to me, not until I urged you to make the Vault trip! And you know what else?" he sneered. "Drossel called not _only_ to offer condolences, but _also_ that job in Reykjavík!"

"What!"

Steve felt the need to step in, since Holly looked as if she was ready to start slamming Melcher off the walls. He shifted one step forward and cleared his throat; both Melcher and Holly looked at him.

"Do you deny tampering with this GPS, Doctor Melcher?"

"Do I . . . wait, who the hell are _you_ anyway?" Melcher snapped, hopping a little now as the chill rose through his bare feet. "Hold on-are those Christmas trees on your camo?"

"I'm S. Claus and yes they ARE Christmas trees. Now answer the question: Did you tamper with this GPS?"

Melcher stared. "S. Claus? Really? You couldn't come up with anything better than that?"

Irritated now, Steve reached over and grabbed Melcher by the front of his longjohns, lifting him off the floor. The back flap popped open as Melcher squawked. "Please don't hit me; I bruise like a Bartlett pear!"

"Nigel Leslie Bruce Melcher of 119 Darwin Road, South Ealing, London. Last recorded request from Santa . . . never. I'm _disappointed_ in you, Nigel. Think of all the microscopes and field guides I could have brought you if you'd just had a little faith."

"You're joking!" the man dangling from his hand spluttered, his expression shifting from doubt to fear. "Holly, you realize this is a madman, right?"

"I realize that you're an idiot and a thief and you're damned lucky I survived or you'd be a murderer too," Holly growled angrily. "I know the academic motto is' publish or die', but this is ridiculous!"

"Easy for you! The last good work I managed got rejected in the first round of reviews!" Melcher whined. "There's been nothing new with arboreal mycology for decades and everyone knows it! Then you come along with your scrapings from Wales and oooh, suddenly your Terra Pax's little darling!"

"People, people," Steve broke in, once again feeling the antagonism building. "Nigel, retract your name from the research and give Doctor Knight back her credit. If you don't, this GPS and the malware in it will be sent to your superior and to every news outlet with an interest in botany."

Melcher blanched. "What? I can't do that!"

"You can and you _will_ ," Steve growled. "I'll see you when you're sleeping; I'll know when you're awake, Nigel Leslie Bruce and I'll _certainly_ know if you've been bad or good."

Melcher flinched but made one last attempt. "And if I don't?"

"Then I'll leave you to Doctor Knight's tender care. Brown belt in Judo, isn't it?"

"No! Nononono, fine, I'll do it as soon as I get back from . . . here," he looked around as Steve finally set him back down. Melcher reached behind himself to do up his long-johns, face red.

"You'll do it _before_ you leave," Steve grimly assured him. "I may not have a jolly temperament or sweet faith in humanity—" he bent low, looking eye to eye with the other man, "but I certainly have enough common sense to know a weasel when I see one."

Finally beaten, Doctor Melcher gave a slow defeated nod. "All right, fine. I've got one request though—do either of you have a spare set of slippers?"

Within two days three things happened. First was that blog post on super-nutrients was updated and had Doctor Holly Knight's name as the sole researcher listed. Once it was up on the jumbo screen a cheer went up through the entire Command Centre and each bank of elves did the wave in her honor.

The second was that Doctor Nigel Melcher was found in his winter woolens outside of his hotel with no plausible explanation for the strings of Christmas lights, tinsel and ornaments wrapped around him. Naturally the photos of him became the popular meme, Cranky Christmas Man which made the internet rounds every December, usually with horrible puns and Photoshop additions.

The third thing was that Doctor Holly Knight and Steve Claus took to kissing without any mistletoe around. This development happened along with fumbling admissions of deep affection, awkward little exchanges and finally the simple and easy bonds of a seriously wonderful relationship. By the time the rest of the Clauses returned from their cruise with tans, tacky tropical shirts and a potted palm tree, Holly Knight sported a little diamond ring and a shy, happy smile.

Margaret Claus cooed, Malcolm Claus beamed, Grand-Santa nudged Steve, grinning and Arthur Claus hugged Holly tightly, whispering, "Welcome to the family!"

And it all worked out just fine. The Greenhouse became a little paradise at the bottom of the North Pole, Holly taught judo to the elves and made trips to study bracken and algae growing on polar bears. Steve kept Christmas on schedule and made it a point to periodically leave mildly threatening notes for Doctor Melcher.

And later in the year instead of going to the Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew, Steve and Holly took a vacation to the hot springs in Iceland, where she wore a bikini decorated with reindeer that ended up on the hotel room carpet much later, along with his Christmas tree camo boxers.

This was the beginning of a Holly jolly Christmas for both of them.

The End


End file.
